


𝐃𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨 🁡 𝑀𝑦 𝐷𝑒𝑎𝑟 𝑌𝑜𝑢

by Adrenalineshots, sonshineandshowers, TheFibreWitch



Series: Domino 🁡 [14]
Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst, Case Fic, Digital Art, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hallucinations, Harassment, Health Emergency, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Mental Health Issues, Metafiction, Murder Mystery, Nightmares, No Real Death, Surrealism, Trauma, Unreliable Narrator, Video, a lot of really strange stuff that happens in altered states of consciousness, anxiousness, canon minor character death, major character death in an altered state of consciousness, reader-driven
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:21:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26503576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adrenalineshots/pseuds/Adrenalineshots, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonshineandshowers/pseuds/sonshineandshowers, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFibreWitch/pseuds/TheFibreWitch
Summary: Selecting 𝑀𝑦 𝐷𝑒𝑎𝑟 𝑌𝑜𝑢 from the bookshelf, Malcolm travels through his own mind.Read this story at:https://www.thedominostory.com/#my-dear-youThis book is one part of the Domino series. If you have not yet read thePrefaceorIntroduction, please head there first.
Relationships: Gil Arroyo/Jackie Arroyo, Gil Arroyo/Jessica Whitly
Series: Domino 🁡 [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1926451
Kudos: 1
Collections: Domino 🁡, Prodigal Son Big Bang 2020 - Saturday Posts





	𝐃𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨 🁡 𝑀𝑦 𝐷𝑒𝑎𝑟 𝑌𝑜𝑢

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jameena](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jameena/gifts), [MissScorp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissScorp/gifts), [ProcrastinatingSab](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProcrastinatingSab/gifts).
  * Inspired by [My Dear You](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/685321) by Rachel Khong. 



> This book is one part of the Domino series. If you have not yet read the [Preface](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26497927/chapters/64577434#workskin) or [Introduction](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26497927/chapters/64588537#workskin), please head there first.
> 
> Betaed by the wonderful [Jameena](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jameena/), [MissScorp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissScorp/), and [ProcrastinatingSab](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProcrastinatingSab/).
> 
> Credit to the creators and their works that inspired and were referenced in this work:  
>  **— Inspiration:**[My Dear You](https://tinhouse.com/my-dear-you/) \- Rachel Khong  
>  **— Cover Song:**[Only Skin](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6UUe3Q54qFg) \- Joanna Newsom

[](https://www.thedominostory.com/images/full/my-dear-you.jpg) |   
---|---  
  
“Welcome, Malcolm Bright,” a chorus of voices says. Looking around, Malcolm sees there are at least two dozen people greeting him to an unknown destination. “Would you like to change your name, or keep it?”

He takes a tentative step forward, unsure of an appropriate way to respond. “Bright. It’s Bright,” he says.

“I’m Billy,” he introduces himself and shakes his hand. “This is Sharice. We’re here to escort you to freshman orientation. You can choose all of your body parts there.”

“My body parts?”

“You can choose upgrades now that you’ve left the corporeal behind. Or keep the same. Or experiment. It’s really up to you. You can be as fluid as you want.”

Bright doesn’t particularly have any qualms with his body. Sure, his circadian rhythm could use a kick in the ass, and his stomach could be booted to a realm of no return, but he’d learned to live with those aspects. The fleeting desire to experiment with interchangeable genitalia crosses his mind, but he brushes it away before he can lose himself in his thoughts. Two faces look back at him, patiently awaiting his decision. “Can I swap out parts of my mind?” he asks.

“That’s not a currently supported upgrade. You’ll keep all your wisdom ever gained and be forever 33.”

“That’s not possible.”

Sharice holds his elbow. “You’re dead, Bright. Snapped in the jaws of a crocodile.”

“In New York City?” Bright asks suspiciously. “I don’t remember it.”

“You won’t. Memories fade here just like patriarchal names. We’re all here to help make this transition easier for you.”

His eyes water for a second, but the prospect of tears strikes him as fake, unnecessary. “Where is here?”

“Here is there is everywhere. Call it whatever you wish. We all call it home.”

Bright nods, unsure what to say. Death by crocodile doesn’t sound like him, but it doesn’t _not_ sound like him either. He has a way of finding danger, much to G… Gil’s dismay. Finally moving his feet to follow them, he keeps asking questions to grasp his new state. “How did you end up here?”

“We don’t know either,” Sharice says.

“Are all dead people here?”

“Yes, all age 33, forever,” Billy confirms.

“Can I ask to see someone?”

“You don’t need to ask. You can communicate with anyone you want once you get to your apartment,” Billy explains.

“Don’t you wonder how you died?”

“No. It’s much more interesting to live on here,” Sharice tells him.

Freshman orientation is like sitting in a voting booth, presented with every possible set of options to change his body. The prospect is overwhelming, the bubbles to complete incomprehensible, so he fills in the basic “Copy” bubble and drops it into the collection box. As he leaves, he sees the total time passed — 4 years. Billy and Sharice collect him outside and see him on his way to the row house apartments, apparently a concept that lives on.

The accommodations in his apartment are as he likes, down to the detail of his restraints already set up in bed. Heading straight for the touchscreen on the kitchen counter, he searches for the one person he wants to see and presses to connect a video call.

She looks younger than he remembers, dark hair waving past her shoulders and far fewer wrinkles on her face. The glow in her eyes and her smile are exactly the same. “Jackie!” he exclaims and grins, thrilled to be able to see her again.

She continues to smile back, but it doesn’t quite reach the strength of his. “Do we know each other?” she asks.

His face plummets, his stomach dropping along with it, devastated by the prospect that they could forget each other. Every time a show she enjoyed ends, he feels her death again, the characters mourning along with him in a ritual he hasn’t explained to anyone. She reappears in nearly every aspect of his life, yet she doesn’t remember him.

“Don’t be sad,” she soothes. “Memory fades here.”

He would _never_ forget them. “You and Gil took care of me as a kid.”

“I’m sorry.” She blinks. “I don’t remember him, either.”

“He was your husband.”

“I did have a husband.” She looks down at her hands. “It sounds like we both meant a lot to you.”

“Yes. It’s so great to see you.” He pauses. “Could we meet for dinner or something?”

“Sure.” She doesn’t disconnect the call, her face appearing to mull through options. “Whoever you don’t want to forget, write them down on a piece of paper. Keep it with you. You’ll lose all the people here.”

Orientation had discouraged record keeping of any of their past lives. Even if Jackie didn’t remember him, she was still looking out for him, as always. “Thank you,” he says.

“Dinner tomorrow,” she responds. “Good night.”

Grabbing paper and pen from the drawer, he writes down Gil’s name and his mother’s and sister’s. It takes him longer to remember the spelling of each of their names and to recall the rest of the team at all. Once everyone’s written down, he folds and pockets the note. He looks at the clock on the display — 10 more days have passed. Dinner. _Shit_.

He can recall every last detail of every case he’s ever worked, but he can’t remember his father’s victims’ names. He wants to contact each of them, tell them they never deserved what happened, offer whatever he can to them now…

His doorbell rings, and he buzzes in the visitor. “How are you doing?” Billy asks, poking his head in. “I found someone who’s been looking for you.”

Jackie’s face appears next, and Bright runs over to her, stopping short of throwing his arms around her. If she doesn’t remember him, the contact likely isn’t welcome. She surprises him by pulling him into a hug, giving his back a pat and then letting him go. “My yoga was running at the same time as Abby, Megan, and Billy’s ultimate frisbee game. I knew they were part of your greeting team, so I asked about seeing you. You got a little lost, I think.”

“It’s hard to understand time here,” Bright admits.

“Days might pass just in this conversation,” she agrees and chuckles.

A chirp comes from outside through the still open door. Bright tilts his head toward the sound, trying to interpret it. “I had a bird once,” he muses. But her name escapes him. Her, he thinks. He’s not sure.

“I did, too,” she says. “Some cats as well. A husband and son.”

He swallows to steady his voice. “I’m the son.”

“We took you in after your father murdered a lot of people.”

“Dr. Whitly.” He curses himself for being unable to remember the victims but able to remember his father’s name clear as day.

“Never heard of him,” Billy cuts in. “J, B, you need anything else? I should probably leave you to it.”

“I want to apologize to his victims,” makes it out of Bright’s mouth before he even realizes it. “See if there’s anything I can do for them.”

“I’m sure they’re fine here,” Billy says. “Everyone ends up fine here. If I may suggest, focus on your life, Bright.”

Visiting with Jackie brings the warmth of being with one of his favorite people and is reminiscent of his many days in their house. It’s weird that Gil’s the one missing now. She reminds him to sleep before she leaves, yet another common response he recognizes.

Finally falling asleep after over two weeks, Bright’s dream starts with all of the people who greeted him and morphs into all of his father’s victims demanding justice, banging on his apartment door until he shows his face. He wakes with a jolt, a scream emerging from his throat, clearing the nightmare from his mind.

“Welcome to a new day here, Bright,” the display on the kitchen counter chimes in an overly saccharine lilt.

He can’t quite remember how many days have passed or even how he got there. Showering, his clothes are washed for him by the time he steps out.

Weeks later, he recalls that there were people who loved him once, that he loves, but their names escape him. He reaches into his pocket to remind himself, yet only fragments of dried pulp fall out. He knows Jackie here, now. And Billy, Sharice, Abby, Megan, Alexis, and Lyla. They all feel familiar, somehow.

— ◌◯◌ —

“I already have a daughter facing prison — I don’t need a dead son!” Jessica exclaims, grinding her toe into the floor. Her bite disappears nearly as quickly as it started, a little bit of steam let off, freeing room for it to grow again.

She and Gil are waiting in a small room in the ICU until they are permitted into Malcolm’s room. Minutes have stretched on to what seems like hours with Gil hovering beside her, yet she can’t bring herself to accept the comfort. It’s easier to lash out. “I’m going to ask for an update,” she says, needing her energy to go somewhere, but Gil grips her hand, keeping her from leaving the chair.

“Jess, we just need to wait,” Gil reminds her, thumb rubbing over the back of her hand. “Can I — “

“My _son_ ,” she cuts him off and pulls her hand away but doesn’t move to stand. Her baby — she needs to know the minutes that pass don’t mean he’s dead on a table.

“I can — “

“Do _you_ want something?” She meets his eyes, trying to figure out why he’s pushing.

He reaches around her back and gives a light squeeze, seemingly grasping for a connection in his worry. She turns to give him a hug, appealing to his need for contact. “Remember when Luisa found him at the bottom of the stairs?” he says into her hair.

“Or when Jackie pulled him out of the tree?”

“He has more lives than anyone I know.”

She pulls away and cups his cheek a moment before settling in her chair, letting his arm stay wrapped around her. The only thing that comes to mind is that one day, those lives will run out, but she doesn’t want to voice that, doesn’t want either of them to address the prospect of that reality. Instead, she sits with Gil, giving him comfort when she doesn’t want any herself, ticking down the minutes until she can see her son.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. Head back to the [Bookshelf](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26497927/chapters/64588570#workskin) to pick another book. :)


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